The Wicked Affair
by Iverna
Summary: Killian Jones is a secret agent working for R.E.G.A.L., an international espionage and law enforcement agency. Emma Swan is an expert thief who has bested him more than once. And now, they have to work together. The fate of the world might just depend on it. But in the world of subterfuge, trust always comes with a price... (TFMU-based AU, Captain Swan)
1. Chapter 1

One of the central truths of the spy trade is that it is important to have a plan. Every job begins with a plan. Every job involves several plans, from the big picture down to each little aspect of the operation.

Another truth, at least in Killian Jones' experience, is that the plan usually goes wrong.

There was a time when it didn't. There was a time when he worked alone, and his plans were not democratic decisions, and he almost never had to run for his life chased by armed guards because someone set off the alarm.

That time came to an abrupt end when he started working with a pompous, honourable idiot and a tiny, impressively intelligent woman with a sharp tongue.

"Liam!" he whisper-yells, gesticulating furiously. "Get back here before they see you!"

The situation is this: Killian is hidden, in accordance with the plan, in a narrow service room at the back of the complex. Liam, until three seconds ago, was similarly hidden and on lookout while Killian gimmicked the alarm system to allow Belle clear access to the restricted section of the complex. According to their carefully arranged time plan, she ought to be there already, having left the art gallery and its glitzy opening ceremony for more interesting territory.

Unfortunately, said territory is supposed to be empty. If she's spotted in there, even the best cover story won't convince anyone of her innocence. And approximately three seconds ago, Liam spotted the guards headed her way.

Killian reacted with a muttered curse. There aren't supposed to be any guards around right now. He made sure of that. He checked and double-checked the roster...

Unless someone tipped them off.

And, just like that, he knows.

 _Swan._

Apparently, the world's best thief – her words, _not_ his – has figured out this same angle on Pandora's Box, the location of which Belle is currently trying to ascertain. Once again, it seems, he underestimated her. He wouldn't have thought it possible anymore. There isn't much left that he would put past her.

Time to add one more thing to that list, it seems.

But his thoughts of Swan are pushed aside by the rather more immediate and very bad feeling that Liam is about to do something honourable and, well, stupid.

He's right.

The lights go out with a shower of sparks and a considerable bang. Liam nods in satisfaction, then yelps as Killian barrels into him and pushes him out of the way of the guards now heading their way. Their guns are drawn. It's time to leave.

And once again, Killian finds himself running for his life, chased by armed guards.

"This one," he manages to get out, "is entirely your fault."

Liam yells something into the tiny communicator built into his watch, and by the time they reach the perimeter and clamber over the fence, Belle is waiting with the car. They pile in, she steps on the gas, and that's that.

Almost.

"What happened?" Belle demands, swerving around a corner so tightly that Liam, still wrestling with his safety belt, is almost thrown on top of her.

"Liam happened," Killian says, draped across the backseat and breathing hard.

"I didn't—" Liam begins, but falters immediately when Belle looks across at him, not an outright glare, but enough to make him reconsider his words. She often has that effect on him, and it never fails to cheer Killian up considerably.

"The guards showed up," Liam says, sounding defensive. "We had to do something, or they would have found you."

"So naturally, you start shooting things," Belle says acidly as they barrel through a gate and onto the road beyond.

"We didn't shoot anything, I just shorted out the—"

"I'm sorry, _destroying_ things," Belle corrects herself. "That's so much better! You two really need to stop doing that."

"I wasn't going to," Killian points out.

"I didn't have any other options!" Liam insists. "Look, it bought you time to get out, and we all got away. And I doubt they ever got a good look at either of us in the dark. No one knows we were ever here."

Killian thinks of Emma Swan, and winces. "Well," he says, slowly. "That may not be entirely true."

* * *

"At least no one got hurt," Belle says, a little philosophically, as they all sit despondently in Killian's hotel room and assess their actions and options. It's a rather depressing process this time. "That's more than some other missions we've done."

"Aye, but on those missions we've generally come away with more of a result," Killian points out.

"Tell me something." Liam waves away Belle's offer of a drink, and focuses on his brother. "How many times has the Swan woman bested you now?"

"I'm not keeping count," Killian says, a little stiffly. He accepts a tumbler from Belle gratefully, sniffing at the rum appreciatively before taking a swig. "And I might point out that she bested _all_ of us."

"This time," Liam concedes. "It still gets added to your tally."

"There is no tally."

"By my count, it's seven to one in her favour."

"Hey. Venice counts in _my_ favour."

Liam smirks. He doesn't do it often, but it's insufferable every time he does. "That would be the one I mentioned, brother."

Killian has no defence against that. He makes a face at his rum. "Well, she bested us both this time. Although, again, I have to point out that you're the one who began the destruction this time."

"I had to think fast."

Belle sighs. "Fast isn't the same as better. You should try _that_ next time."

"I was a little preoccupied," Liam retorts. "Not to mention rather short on options. If we'd given them another few seconds, they might have noticed you."

"I'm pretty sure they noticed something!"

"But not _you_ ," Liam repeats impatiently. "They know someone was on the premises, causing trouble. They have no idea anyone was inside, and they certainly won't have any idea what you were looking for."

"For all the good _that_ does, since we're right back to where we were before this whole run-around," Belle reminds him.

"At least we _are_ all back," Liam says, and now his voice is quiet, the defensiveness gone.

For a moment, they look at each other. Killian isn't sure whether they notice the shift in the air between them, but he certainly does. This is Liam: impulsive and frustrating, but always because of that deep-down need to protect those he cares about. This is Belle: impatient and annoyed at every upheaval of a carefully-constructed plan, but still struck and maybe even a little amazed every time she realises why Liam does what he does.

He never says that he cares. But then, he doesn't need to.

The moment stretches, and Killian notes that Belle has shifted her weight onto the foot closer to Liam, and Liam is leaning on the armrest closer to Belle. He gives them another two heartbeats, but they're both stubbornly clueless as usual, so he breaks the silence with, "Perhaps you should just go to bed."

Their heads whip around in unison to look at him. He smirks at their alarmed (and maybe a little guilty, as though his remark echoed something they'd been thinking about) expressions, and adds innocently, "We should all sleep on it and reconvene in the morning. I'll handle Regina, if she calls."

"Ah," Liam says, clearing his throat. "Yes. Right."

"Right," Belle echoes. "I suppose there's—"

The phone rings. Liam is closest to it, and picks up. "Yes?" He scowls suspiciously. "No, what— _oh_. One moment." He looks up at Killian, his expression something that Killian can't decipher so quickly. "It's for you."

There's a female voice talking through the little speaker, and Killian makes a face as he presses the receiver to his ear. He doesn't want to report today's glorious heroics to Regina Mills any more than Liam does, but he did just volunteer, in a way. Besides, she's going to find out sooner or later, and he'll hear about it from her no matter what. "Yes?"

But it's not Regina. "Hook," Emma Swan's voice greets him, the usual mix of amused and a little cynical. "Long time, no see."

Killian has never been gladder that telephones only relay voice. Emma is always insufferable, but never more so than when she knows she's put someone off-balance, and controlling his voice is far easier than keeping his face impassive. "That can't be true," he says smoothly. "You must have seen at least one of us, judging by your handiwork."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Indeed? You aren't usually so forgetful, love. Or are you being obtuse on purpose?"

Emma clucks her tongue, or at least Killian thinks that's what the sound is coming over the phone line. "That's not very nice. Especially when I'm calling to thank you."

That can't possibly be true, or at least not nearly as straightforward as it sounds, but Killian has very little to go on, so he simply echoes, "Thank me?"

Liam is watching him with an expression that Killian is sure he doesn't like, and that heralds all manner of torment for him later. For now, though, he can't dwell on that; he needs to focus if he's going to keep up with Emma in whatever this conversation really is. "For your help earlier," she clarifies, her tone smooth as silk. "I don't know what you did, but it sure got everyone's attention."

Killian squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He was afraid of this, but he's been hoping – rather optimistically – that maybe, just maybe, Liam's distraction was enough to shut everything down and drive everyone away. "Conveniently away from you, I take it."

"Very conveniently," Emma agrees. "And since I actually knew where to look, well." She doesn't finish the sentence, but he can hear her satisfied smile. Hear it, and picture it in his head, clear as day. It's an expression he's come to know far too well over the past two years. The expression she always has when she's got her hands on the prize he wanted.

He forces his jaw to unclench, and glowers at the far wall, not in the mood for games anymore. Regina is going to _kill_ him. Then Liam. Then him again. "Swan, as pleasant as this is, I really don't have the time for it," he says, making no effort to disguise his annoyance. She knows, anyway. "I'm waiting on a call that's actually important."

"I'm not important?" Emma repeats. "I think you just hurt my feelings, Hook. I thought we were friends."

"I dread to think how you treat your enemies."

She laughs, and it sounds almost carefree, but he thinks that it seems a little forced. "Well, I don't offer to help them, that's for sure."

One of Killian's eyebrows rises. "Help them?"

"That's why I'm calling," she says, all innocence. "I heard you were looking for something. I happen to have found it. I'm sure we can work something out."

Killian's eyebrows are now both making a heroic effort to reach his hairline. "I'd like nothing more."

"A date, then." Emma sounds delighted. She gives him an address and a time, tells him to wear something nice, and hangs up before he's finished processing the turn that his day has just taken.

Liam is smirking at him. He stops smirking when Killian relays that they are, just maybe, not quite as screwed as they were five minutes ago. Unfortunately, he starts again shortly after that, when Regina calls and refers to Emma Swan as "Hook's thieving girlfriend", and neither Killian's glare nor Regina's barbed remarks about wanton destruction and letting one woman outwit the three of them are enough to make him stop.

The bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

It is, as it turns out, worse than Killian expected. This comes as no particular surprise, especially given that Emma Swan is involved, but of all the possible demands for her to make, this one is one of the worst.

"You are _not_ coming along."

"I told you." She's all nonchalance in the semi-darkness, casually leaning against the side of her car. She looks half-defensive, half-alluring, and he can't decide which is the more dangerous. "I'm the only one who can identify it. You really want to risk wasting your time on a fake?"

He grits his teeth. Of all the ways he would have wanted to carry out this mission, teaming up with Emma Swan is all the way at the bottom of the list.

At least, so he tells himself. In fact, it's far too intriguing a prospect to rank anywhere near the bottom. But that's where it _should_ be.

"Look," Emma says, shifting towards him a little. "You need me. You can lock your ego away for a few days, can't you?"

"It's not my ego that's at stake here," he tells her. "It's the mission."

"Right, the really important box," Emma says, not looking very impressed. "What's that encryption key for, anyway?"

"It's not an encryption key."

She frowns. "What?"

He frowns, too. "Why the bloody hell would one keep an encryption key in a box?"

"I don't know, I—" she shakes her head. "So what is it?"

He hesitates. He shouldn't tell her. Classified, and all that.

Then again, the last time he told her the truth, she saved his life.

"It's a serum," he says. "We aren't sure what it does on its own, but we do know that it's key to Zelena's efforts to develop some sort of mind-control virus."

He thinks that he sees a stricken look cross her face, just for a moment, but it's hard to tell in the dim light of the street lamps some distance away. Before he can be sure, it passes, and she scoffs. "That's ridiculous."

"I did mention the part about Zelena West being behind it, yes?"

Emma makes a face. "Touché."

They've both had the dubious honour of meeting Zelena West, years-long thorn in R.E.G.A.L.'s, and especially Regina's, side. It isn't one of Killian's treasured memories. Once she finished threatening everyone he cared about, she tried to drown him.

Emma saved his life, that day. He still isn't sure why.

"You really think she can do it?" Emma asks. "Mind control? I mean, it sounds a little... sci-fi. I'm not really one for fairytales."

"This one's real," he assures her. "Hence why I want to be sure that everyone on this mission understands what's at stake. And cares about the outcome."

"I care about getting paid," Emma says lightly.

"Then why come to us at all?" he challenges. "Why not do it alone? As I recall, that's how you work best."

"I did ask for payment, in case you've forgotten. And you already agreed to it." She raises her voice to talk over him before he can argue back. "And like I said, you need me. We all go to England, I'll identify the box, we steal it, R.E.G.A.L. pays me my finder's fee, done. The world is saved, and we all go home happy."

"England," he repeats. "It's in England?"

She smiles. "Details once we're there."

And just like that, her sudden willingness to be a team player makes sense. He narrows his eyes. "Couldn't get in on your own, I take it?"

Emma is about to deny it, he can tell, but she seems to realise that it's futile to play coy about it. "I'm on a few watch lists," she admits. "I can sneak in, but it'd take me far too long to pull all the strings. R.E.G.A.L. doesn't have nearly as many hoops to jump through."

"One of the many perks of working to uphold the law rather than break it," he says, maybe a little snidely. And also a little hypocritically, he admits privately, since he wasn't all that worried about the law before being shanghaied into his current position. But Emma doesn't know that.

"Because I'm sure you learned all of _your_ skills on the right side of the law," she says drily.

All right, so she doesn't _know_ , but she suspects. Damn her, anyway.

"Perhaps," he says casually. "Look, I can't make any promises, love. I'll have to clear it. I don't have that kind of authority."

"Fine," she says. "Go do that. We have a deal, right?"

He sighs. "We do indeed."

She holds out a hand, and they shake on it. Her fingers are cold, and for a moment he has a bizarre urge to take her hand in both of his and warm it up. Thankfully, she snatches her hand back before he can act on such a crazy impulse. She tries for her usual smug, slightly flirty smile, but it looks a little strained.

Maybe she's just realised exactly what she agreed to.

Killian watches her drive away, then hurries to rejoin his team and make the call.

Regina Mills is not happy about arranging special permission for Emma Swan to enter the UK, or indeed any country, and makes no secret of it.

"I don't like it, either," Killian admits. "But I don't see that we have much choice. We can't hope to gain access to the complex again now that she's been there, and she won't sell the information without being allowed to come along. I could bring her in for interrogation, but by the time you get anything at all from her—"

"No, no," Regina cuts him off, to his relief. "That'll take too long. I take it you believe her?"

"That she knows where the box is? Aye."

"All right." Regina is silent for a moment. "Just tell me one more thing, Jones. Do you trust her?"

Killian hesitates, but he can't lie about it, not with so much at stake. "No."

"Good," Regina states. "Make sure you keep it that way."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Go make your travel arrangements. I'll see to everything else from here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good luck. And Jones?"

"Yes?"

There might be a slight smirk in Regina's voice; it's hard to tell. "Don't get in over your head."

* * *

"That was fast," Emma comments when Killian hands over her brand-new papers.

"I do aim to please," Killian says, winking at her.

She scoffs and looks away, flipping open the passport to study it. "Emma Blanchard," she reads, then looks back up at him. "I don't even get a new name?"

"You got a new surname."

"You got a new surname."

"Kinda half-assed, isn't it?"

"I'm quite certain there's no shortage of blonde women named Emma in this world, love," he says. "It's common practice to keep first names whenever possible, especially for someone who isn't a field agent. Less chance of you missing your cue."

"I don't miss cues," Emma says, a little sharply. "But fine. What about you?"

He sketches a bow. "James Bonny, CEO of Millennium Global, Inc. A shipping concern," he adds, "part of the Vasilian Group. We specialise in cargo, mostly container shipping."

Emma rolls her eyes. "I don't need the entire dossier."

"Actually, you do," Killian says. "You ought to know a thing or two about your fiancé, after all."

He has the brief but distinct pleasure of seeing Emma's mouth drop open, just a little. By the time she speaks, it's gone. "My what?" There's a definite edge in her voice.

Killian ignores her tone, and smiles. "Your fiancé. Your truly." He digs the ring out of his pocket, seizes Emma's hand, and slides it into place on her finger. "Congratulations."

"Oh, no." She snatches her hand back and pulls the ring off. For a moment, he thinks she might throw it at him, but she only holds it out to him rather forcefully. "No. Absolutely not."

He's a little surprised by the vehemence of her protest, but makes no move to take it back. "I'm afraid it's not up for discussion."

"Damn right it's not," she grinds out. "Because it's not happening. What, just because I'm a woman—"

"Were you a man, you'd be engaged to Belle," Killian says calmly. "Being engaged to an influential businessman – or woman – is one of the best ways to grease the wheels of bureaucracy and obtain a visa for you."

"Sure, but why-" She cuts herself off, her eyes meeting his. "It's a precaution," she says, answering the question she was about to ask. "In case someone recognises me. They'll think I suckered you into pulling those strings for me, and your cover stays intact."

He nods, both annoyed and a little impressed that she figured it out so fast. "You'd make a good spy, Swan."

"I am a good spy," she says. "Just because I don't work for your little club doesn't mean I'm incompetent." There's something hard in the set of her face, as though she's upset and trying to cover it. Perhaps it sits ill with her that he's taking steps to protect himself in case she's discovered, although it can't come as a surprise to her that neither he nor Regina trust her. Or perhaps there's something about being engaged that sits ill with her, not a far-fetched notion given her obvious fear of commitment.

He files that away for further thought later, and says nothing.

"I still don't like it," Emma adds, when the silence stretches on.

"You're welcome to stay here," he offers. "But if you come along, you come along as part of the team. And _that_ means you follow orders and stick to the plan."

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes assessing him, then slides the ring back onto her finger. "Fine."

"Do try for a little more enthusiam once we're under way, love," he tells her, and he can't help grinning at her, just a little. "People might wonder why you agreed to marry me if all you do is glare at me."

She narrows her eyes. "If you're angling for hugs and kisses, you can forget it."

He gives her an innocent look. "I said a little, Swan. Although, if that's your chosen alternative to glaring, I shan't object."

That, of course, has her glaring at him again. And he still isn't sure whether this is the worst idea Regina has ever had, or the best thing that's ever happened to him.

* * *

The journey to England is largely uneventful. For once, Killian doesn't even have to charm the ticket lady into giving Liam and Belle adjoining seats; he and Emma have to sit together for appearances' sake, which leaves Belle and Liam across the aisle from him and next to each other. He has perfectly good and valid reasons for that particular habit, of course. Belle always spends the entire takeoff and every bit of turbulence clutching either the armrest or her neighbour's arm in a death grip, and Liam is much more tolerant of that than Killian, not least because it distracts him from dwelling on the fact that he's trapped in a cramped, enclosed space for the next few hours.

Emma is a welcome change from both of them, sitting back in her seat with relaxed nonchalance and flipping through the travel magazine. She doesn't even insult him more than perhaps half a dozen times and spends the rest of the flight either chatting almost amiably, watching movies, and dozing a little. It is, in fact, one of the most pleasant flights Killian has ever experienced.

Perhaps to make up for it, another storm brews once they arrive at their hotel and Emma realises that being a couple means sharing a room.

"I did not sign up for this, Hook," she hisses once they're in the elevator, heading up. "Call whoever you need to and get me another room."

"What part of _engaged_ didn't you understand, love?" he demands. "This is the twentieth century. People don't usually wait until they're married before-"

"I am _not_ sleeping with you!"

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"You just implied it!"

The elevator dings to a halt, and an older gentleman dressed in an ill-fitting suit joins them. Silence descends, and the tension builds. Killian swears that he hears the other man sigh in relief when the elevator reaches their floor and he and Emma move to step out.

"I mean it, _James_ ," Emma insists, and Killian is a little impressed that she remembers to use his new name in public even in her anger. "This isn't—"

"This isn't up for discussion," he interrupts, lengthening his stride.

Unfortunately, Killian is not all that much taller than Emma, so the effort falls rather flat. Emma has no trouble keeping pace with him, and she is not the least bit impressed by his command tone, either. "Oh, yes it is, buddy," she maintains. "There's this thing called privacy."

Killian blows out a breath. "Does it help that it's a twin room?"

"Not good enough," Emma says, although she does sound a little less angry. "I can't be around you twenty-four-seven!"

He turns his head to smirk at her. "Worried that you won't be able to resist me?"

"You mean resist _killing_ you?" she retorts. "I mean, really, you're the one who should be worried."

He reaches their room and unlocks the door, stepping aside to let her through first. She walks in with only the briefest hesitation, but he notes the way her step falters for just a split second.

It is a _very_ nice suite.

The living area is spacious and includes access to a small balcony. The beds are in a separate area, although without a door, and set up in a way that makes Killian think they can probably be pushed together. The décor is perhaps a little overdone, but it's all held in similar shades of deep red and mahogany with brass handles and highlights, so he forgives the designers for the elaborate chandelier and their apparent love affair with tassels and lace.

"Are you _sure_ it's not good enough?" he asks Emma, who is standing a little ahead of him, looking around and running her finger over the back of one of the couches. "It seems there's quite a bit of space you can put between us, should you wish me out of your sight."

It isn't, in retrospect, the smartest thing he's ever said. Even if she were inclined to concede the point before, she surely won't now. Her expression heralds that much when she turns to look at him. "I don't mind _sight_. The problem is that I can still _hear_ you."

He grins. "So you don't object to my looks, love?"

She smiles sweetly. "You don't look nearly as stupid as you sound, no."

He sighs, and abandons his efforts at flirtation for the sake of the mission. "Look, Swan— _Emma_ — it really would be more convenient if you'd consent to stay here. Belle and Liam will be across the hall once they check in, and we can collaborate much more efficiently this way. Not to mention raise less questions."

She considers this for another moment, then nods. "For the mission," she says. "Fine. Speaking of which, we should probably start planning how to steal this magical box from Gold, right?"

Killian's heart flips. "I'm sorry, steal it from whom?"

"Gold," Emma repeats. "That's where it is. Rupert Gold. Businessman, collector of—"

"Aye," Killian says, as the bottom seems to drop out from his world. "I know him."


End file.
